I Vow to Thee
by Vi Co
Summary: A set of one-hundred word 'snapshots'. More explanation inside. Completed! Reviews are much appreciated. Please let me know who you think it was...
1. Set One

Author's Note – This series of 'snapshots' arose as an exercise while outlining another story I hope to write eventually. However, I've decided to post these now. Each snapshot is exactly one-hundred words long. They should be thought of as a series of 'photographs' put together in order to (hopefully) give a coherent picture of the day. Most of them use the sense of sight, but a few use hearing. Those few are the only ones describing more than a split-second. These take place during the final days of Stalag 13, after one prisoner has had to make the ultimate sacrifice.

* * *

Dark clouds filled the sky over the camp, pressing down heavily and threatening snow. The guard towers were silhouetted darkly against the dim roundness of the pre-dawn sky, rising from the lines of barbed wire like angular fingers reaching up to touch the sky.

Eight men were assembled in the centre of the hard-packed snow of the compound, an honour guard representing a cross-section of the camp's varied nationalities. The men were too lean from their periods of captivity and their uniforms were mismatched and threadbare. Time had not been kind, but they still bore themselves proudly, waiting at attention.

* * *

Tight formations of men were assembling along the edges of the compound as the men emerged from their barracks. A set of double lines were forming around the edges of the compound, framing the honour guard. This once, the prisoners needed no prodding from the guards.

All of the men had dressed carefully in their best. Tattered uniforms had been pressed, but the trousers would no longer hold the creases. Worn boots had been polished, but the battered leather would not keep the shine.

The guards looked on nervously, their hands reaching out to finger the triggers of their weapons.


	2. Set Two

In front of the guards' barracks, another formation had assembled. This one was composed of men who were ostensibly fighting against the prisoners who formed the first set of formations. Despite this, the muted light still glinted off polished buttons and carefully hung decorations. These men too were dressed in their best, groomed as if for inspection.

Trousers had been crisply pressed and carefully bloused. Jackboots had been buffed to a high sheen. The more customary helmets had been exchanged for the formal cloth caps. Conspicuously absent were the officers' side arms and soldiers's rifles; the guards were unarmed.

* * *

Dawn had broken, but it was nearly impossible to tell through the thick cloud cover. The diffuse quality of light had hardly changed; the clouds were too dense to allow it to change.

The assembled guards had marched over to fall in alongside the men they guarded. With the addition of the group of guards, the double lines were extended so they stretched the full length of the compound, forming a lane through which the eventual procession would have to pass.

The honour guard stood sharply at attention, their eyes fixed on the steps leading up to the kommandant's quarters.

* * *

For a moment, the only sound in the compound was the muffled tattoo of a covered drum. Any other morning, the compound would have been full of voices, but this morning, nearly all was silent.

The drummer rested his sticks and for a moment, complete silence reigned. Then the bright notes of a bugle called the men to colours. The ropes used to raise the flag rattled against the flagpole, announcing to all within hearing distance that the flag was being hoisted. There was another second of silence, then the ropes rattled again; the flag was being lowered to half-mast.


	3. Set Three

All of the prisoners kept their eyes facing resolutely forward, refusing to spare so much as a sideways glance at the flag that stood for everything that they were fighting against. They stood quietly alongside the guards, marking their respects together, but not a single prisoner would look at the flag.

Most of the guards were watching the crimson flag abashedly, but a few could not bring themselves to look at the flag they served. Those guards, like the prisoners, instead had their eyes on the honour guard as they stood, waiting patiently for some sign from the kommandant's quarters.

* * *

The door to the kommandant's quarters had been swung open to allow the honour guard to pass through. As one, the eight airmen had taken their first steps toward the open door. They were ready to do a final service for one of their own. They were ready to bear him away into eternity.

Prisoners and guards alike followed the slow progress of the honour guard with their eyes. Yet, they had to remain standing at attention; they could not all make the journey as members of the honour guard. Instead, they had to wait for the guard to reappear.

* * *

The sound of booted feet on the hard snow echoed throughout the camp as the guard marched. The sound was dampened by the heavy clouds, but it still rang out clearly enough that no one could fail to hear it.

Then, the sound of footsteps disappeared pair by pair into the carpet on the kommandant's quarters.

Silence again descended on the camp as the final set of airmen entered the kommandant's quarters. After a moment of quiet, there came a soft chorus of commands in half a dozen different languages. With the clicking of hundreds of boots, the men rested.


	4. Set Four

The two men responsible for overseeing the camp in these final days of the war were standing side by side at the head of the body, watching as the honour guard entered from the compound. The evidence of the hard days and long nights was written plainly on the faces of both men.

The body had been carefully laid out in the main room and the two officers regarded the honour guard over the top of it. The officers kept the faces in carefully maintained masks; they could not reveal their thoughts or feelings to the men under their commands.

* * *

The eight men that made up the honour guard were dressed in the most complete uniforms that the camp could scrounge. People had rushed to volunteer their carefully maintained and guarded uniforms, but still, no man sported a complete uniform.

The lines of men had split before the remains of their fellow prisoner. One line had moved to the right of the draped form as the other had moved to the left. They kept their eyes up, away from the body that should not have had to be there. This was the duty they should not have had to perform.

* * *

By rights, the man under the pall should have had a hero's burial; instead his body was arranged on a makeshift stretcher and draped with a white cloth. His body had been laid out with great care, but there was no polished wooden coffin. They had no flag.

Eight pairs of work-toughened hands were reaching out to grasp the wooden slats making up the sides of the stretcher. Through the drape of the fabric, it was easy to make out the shape of arms that had been crossed over a chest that would no longer rise and fall with breath.


	5. Set Five

The honour guard were gripping stretcher firmly, but they were taking great care not to disturb the white silk that had been tenderly draped over the body.

Everyone knew there was only one source of silk like that in the camp. It was the only source of silk like that in all Germany; it was a parachute. One of the prisoners had offered up the canopy that they had been saving since their capture.

A cloud of material much like this one had carried the dead man into captivity. Now it would cover him as he made his final exit.

* * *

The two officers led the honour guard out of the kommandant's quarters. The honour guard was following behind the officers, carefully out of step so that the body was not jostled.

The men waiting in the compound had snapped back to attention. Most of the men wore looks of solemn disbelief on their faces; these men hadn't known the camp was anything but ordinary until just days ago.

A few sombre faces were peering from behind half-closed shutters. Although most of these men had been too resentful to attend with the others, they had removed their caps to watch.

* * *

The German drummer started to tap out the slow tempo of a funeral dirge. The steady footsteps of the honour guard faltered for a moment as they readjusted to match the beats from the snare drum. Then they resumed, seamlessly merging into the drumbeat.

But aside from the drum and the muffled footsteps of the honour guard, the camp was quiet. Sounds that were usually lost in the bustle of humanity were loud in the silence. The ropes clanked loudly against the flagpole as the flag fluttered in the wind. The snow crunched softly beneath boots as men shifted their weight.


	6. Set Six

The gates had been swung open to allow the party free passage through it. The two officers remained at the head of the small procession, each marching in their own style; one the straight-legged Prussian goosestep, and the other the Western manner. But they remained in step together.

Although the honour guard had had time to prepare themselves for the duty they were no fulfilling, they were not ready. Their faces showed starkly their grief. They had all been close to the man they now bore. That was why they had been chosen to help him make his final journey.

* * *

The muzzles of the machine guns drooped down, hanging loosely on their tripods. The guards in the towers were not watching the prisoners assembled in the compound below them. They were watching the group of twelve men as they walked out of the camp: a pair of officers at the head, the drummer and the bugler following, and the eight.

But they weren't really watching the twelve. They were watching the one man who would never return to the camp. He had sacrificed his life not only for his friends and allies, but also for them. They were his enemies.

* * *

A black-garbed priest stood waiting at the grave, dug deeply into the frozen soil. Every inch had been dug by men more used to having to brace their work, to ensure it did not collapse on those it sheltered. This time there was no need for such care. These men stood along the side of the grave, the pile of black earth beside them.

A wooden cross lay on the ground before them, waiting to be erected. Rough-hewn from scarce firewood, it was but a small monument to such an immense act of courage. But it was all they had.


	7. Set Seven

Even viewed in full colour, it was almost a black and white photograph. The dark grave had been sunk deeply into the snow-covered earth. The black-robed priest stood outlined against the grey sky. The cross of ashes was drawn on the white shroud. Ebony covers enclosed the white pages of the missal.

White clouds of breath hung in the air around those that were still living. Black bands encircled the arms of nearly all of the assembled men, guard and prisoner.

The crosses marking the other fallen prisoners had been weathered grey, sapped of their colour by the unrelenting elements.

* * *

The lone voice of the priest carried faintly over to the men standing in the compound. "Pater noster," they heard him begin, "qui est in caelis…"

The prayer was picked, whispered by the men in every language.

"…geheiligt werde dien Name, dein Reich kommen…"

"...que votre volonté soit faite, sur la terre..."

"... as on earth. Give us this day..."

"...ons dagelijksch brood..."

"...i odpuść nam naze winy..."

"...as we forgive those..."

"...qui ont nos offensés..."

"...und führe uns nicht in Versuchung..."

"...sed libere nos a malo..."

Then, after it all, concluded by one word common to them all: "Amen."


	8. Set Eight

Trees grew up through the remnants of barbed wire. Time had passed and the war was over. The locals kept the graveyard clear, but the rest of the camp was reverting back to as it had been before the war. The wooden crosses had been replaced by marble crosses, forever marking the resting spots of the prisoners.

His headstone was no different than any of the others. Nothing distinguished him from any of the others. There was nothing to commemorate his sacrifice, nothing but the group of men that stood before his grave. Because of him, they were still alive.

* * *

"It should have been me.'

"But then it would have been all of us."

There was a pause as the men stood.

"It really should have been me."

"It could have been any of us."

"But it wasn't."

"No, it wasn't."

"It was him."

"We got lucky."

"We were lucky for four years."

Another period of silence.

"By all rights none of us should be here."

"But we still are."

"Yeah, we are."

"But I wish that he were too."

"We all do."

They stood in silence a while longer.

Then they slowly left, leaving him to rest in peace.

* * *

FIN  



End file.
